


Perhaps you were born for such a time as this

by LittleWolf77



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Joseph’s daughter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-10-12 18:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17472785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWolf77/pseuds/LittleWolf77
Summary: A rewrite of Far cry 5, featuring Junior Deputy Alex Rook as Joseph Seed’s daughter. Psychic Seeds AU.





	1. Trying to avoid the inevitable (rewritten!)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Cold And Broken Hallelujah](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16974693) by [CobaltPhosphene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltPhosphene/pseuds/CobaltPhosphene). 



> First time writing a fic for this fandom/ on AO3. Constructive criticism very welcome.  
> Enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junior Deputy Alex Rook is honestly just not having a great time. Besides her biological birth father being Joseph Seed (you know, the evil cult leader), she’s also plagued with visions of the upcoming apocalypse. This chapter takes place pre-game, focusing on Burke’s arrival and briefing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> Sorry for taking so long to update I’m honestly the worst.  
> I felt so uninspired by where the first part of this story was going so after trying to write the next few chapters and getting writer’s block, I decided to change some things around and I’m much happier with how things have turned out.  
> Changes:  
> -From third person POV to first. I think it gave Alex a lot more character having her own voice.  
> -I split the first chapter in two (the second part will be published within the next few days, I promise!)  
> -I took sgtpaintbrush’s advice (thank you to everyone who commented or left kudos!) and seperated the chunks of texts into smaller paragraphs so it’s easier to read. 
> 
> Enjoy! As always, constructive criticism is always welcome.

Splatters of orange and purple smeared the Montana sky as the sun began to set. I smiled half-heartedly, glad to see a colour that wasn’t crimson red for once. The moment passed quickly, leaving only the sense of utter dread that had lingered in my chest all day. Steadying myself against the window pane, I enjoyed the last few moments of sanity. I didn’t need a vision to know that the Marshall would be arriving a little after sundown, ushering in the chaos I’d tried to desperately to avoid. Judging from the pursed lips and hunched shoulders of my colleagues, his entrance would be sooner rather than later. In my finer moments I tended to call him the harbinger of doom, maybe a tad melodramatic but it’s the most accurate representation of Burke’s role in the upcoming apocalypse. Sure, most people would say the blame’s all mine since I’m the one who puts the events into motion and all, but it’s nice to not shoulder the entirety of the guilt.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The apocalypse, an event I had ‘prophesied’, wouldn’t be happening for a while yet. Or at all, if I could help it. Still, my hands trembled as I watched the sun sink steadily beneath the skyline. It was like watching the same horror movie a million times over until one day you wake up in a bathroom chained to a wall being asked if you want to play a game. The scares are a lot worse when they’re happening in real-time. Emotions are more intense too, I realised, attempting to squash the fear that clawed through my chest. If I screwed up, I’d be dead. Worse still, near enough the entirety of the human race would be decimated too. To say I was under pressure would be a massive understatement. 

“Rook, a word?” The Sheriff’s voice rang out over the hum of idle computers and the gentle rustling of paper. I jolted away from the window, my muscles tensed at the sudden noise. The next sound I had expected to hear was the heavy stomp of the Marshall’s boots. I hadn’t foreseen Earl’s call. That wasn’t surprising though. My visions were a mess of sensations, most of the time it would be the sound of screaming or the lingering taste of blood on my tongue. Rarely did my visions portray the entirety of a situation. Which, in all honesty, was not great during the times where I wanted to avoid as much human contact as I could. Shuffling across the precinct as quickly as physically possible, I tried to avoid the confused stares from the other deputies. Right now, I really didn’t need their interference. 

The Sheriff’s office was the smallest in the building. The only natural light into the claustrophobic space was a shattered window, smashed by some vandals back in ‘82. Allegedly, the annual budgets since then couldn’t cover repairs. The greying carpet was more hardwood floor than carpet and there was an unmistakeable stench of smoke ingrained into every surface. That was just the Earl for you though, selfless to a fault. Nancy, of course, had the largest office. Whitehorse made some excuse about how she needed the space for the audio equipment, since 911 calls were routed through her office. I just think it’s because he’s sweet on her.  
“I figure you already know why I’ve called you in here,” Whitehorse didn’t look up from his collection of paperwork as he spoke. His voice was soft, apology laced in his words. I pressed my back firmly against the row of filing cabinets farthest from the Sheriff’s desk. I hoped from the distance I’d put between us he’d sense my annoyance.  
“Yeah, we’re arresting my dad. Hur- fucking- ray,” I retorted. He hummed in agreement though his brows furrowed in disapproval at my sarcastic tone. Gnawing nervously at my lower lip, I tried to ignore the look of what I assumed to be disappointment in Earl’s eyes. After a moment, he glanced up at me. His eyes flashed white, the colour engulfing both his pupils and irises. A vision of a possible future. 

Shocked by the sight, I found myself folding almost instantly, taking a step forward, “Earl, I’m sorry. I’m just...” I trailed off with a shrug, unable to find the right words to convey my emotions.  
“I know,” he sighed, rubbing the space between his eyebrows, “If I could get you off this case I would. Nancy barely got away with desk duty.” I couldn’t help but sigh. Considering that Nancy was a 52 year old woman with chronic back pain and an inability to pass her weapons proficiency test, I was once again reminded of the Marshall’s dedication to this case. Relief spread through my chest as I noticed that while he had been talking, Earl’s eyes had mercifully returned to their usual forest green. He handed me one of the folders from his teetering pile, ‘Seed’ plastered on the front with block red letters. I tilted my head, confused.  
He smiled sadly, “Figured you wouldn’t want everyone else breathing down your neck the first time you see your dad, kid.”  
“Oh, thanks.” I brushed my hand over the beige folder, simultaneously intrigued by and dreading opening the file.  
“Alex,” Earl called suddenly as I clasped the door handle, “I’ve heard word that the Seeds know about you. I want you to be careful, okay?”  
I hurried out of the office, anxious to get back to my desk. The Sheriff was one of the only people who knew of my true parentage, that my name wasn’t really Alex Rook, that my parents weren’t really the gentle pastor and his wife, Hope county’s local doctor. The implications of his words were clear, that someone other than him had leaked that information to the Seeds. To my biological father. I knew that wasn’t the case. After all, I wasn’t the only one who had visions. But explaining that to the Sheriff would only end up with me back for another psych evaluation. 

“Looks like someone’s in trouble, Rook,” Pratt joked as I walked past his desk. His laughter rang out over the room until Hudson rolled her chair around their shared desk space and slapped his arm. Hard. Despite everything, I found myself smiling, the moment utterly bittersweet. Unless I could help it, Pratt’s goofball nature would be as good as gone as soon as we reached Hope county. It was nice to hear him laugh so freely, even if it was at my expense. Plus, I was used to Staci’s lame jokes. I mean, our desks were all shoved together in the middle of the precinct. Good for when you wanted to chat about a case. Not so good when you needed a little privacy.  
“Well, judging by the case size, I’m gonna guess all of us are, Staci,” I dropped the file down onto the desk, laughing at the groans from both deputies. Discomfort grew in the base of my stomach, a sense of foreboding that left a bitter taste in my mouth. We were in more than just trouble. 

The first document in the file was a photograph. The father’s eyes- perfect mirrors of my own- stared blankly up at me. I found myself inhaling sharply. We were too alike. Sure, I’d seen him before, in visions and dreams, but never as clear as this. A tangible photograph. Unnerved by how uncanny our likeness was, I felt the first wave of panic begin to mount. How could I hide this from the citizens of Hope county? The unfortunate souls trampled by Joseph’s scramble for ‘salvation.’ Anything even remotely associated with the Seed name was automatically hated. I was literally my father’s double, just with tits and softer features. I wouldn’t just be hated, I’d be fucking obliterated. Granted, my eyes were the biggest giveaway, something that could be covered with a pair of tinted shades, but the rest of my appearance really didn’t help. The worst part was that it wasn’t just the citizens of Hope county that I was hiding from. It was the Marshall and- more importantly- the Seed family. If I was spotted by either party it would be game over. A vision I’d had way too often, verging one way or the other but always ending the same. The Marshall would kick me off the team because of my ‘conflicting interests’ and the world would end. My father or his brothers would be more interested in my capture than the collapse and the world would end. I’d planned for this event since I was 12 years old, the first time I’d seen the upcoming apocalypse. I refused to let a stupid thing like my appearance get in the way of that. 

Chastising myself for not having the foresight to dye my hair any colour other than its natural brown, I barely noticed the Marshall’s approach. It was only when he burst through the station’s old oak doors that I looked up. Time seemed to slow after that, his barked orders replacing any form of greeting or nicety. I took an instant disliking to him. Manners don’t cost much. Even a hello would’ve been appreciated. Soon enough, he was yelling his way through a doomed mission plan, complete with his own PowerPoint presentation he’d demanded be set up as soon as he arrived. We obliged, begrudgingly, for Earl’s sake. But I didn’t appreciate the feeling of being back in high school. And I certainly didn’t need blurry pictures of my hometown splashed up on the screen. Still, the Sheriff didn’t deserve to have this know-it-all idiot screeching in his face about how incompetent his deputies were. Pratt was already living proof of that. I smirked to myself, making a mental note to recount that jab to Hudson and Pratt if I ever got the chance.  
“Something funny to you, Rookie?” Burke snapped from across the room, annoyed I’d had the audacity to smile during his presentation. God, when he gets his dumb ass captured, maybe I should put in a recommendation for Burke to be looked after by John, rather than Faith. The men were two peas in the same narcissistic pod.  
I shook my head in response, avoiding Burke’s gaze. Of course, I’d attracted the attention of the one person I was supposed to avoid. In an effort to appear nonchalant, I glanced away. Maybe I figured that if I looked laid back, he wouldn’t bother with me. I don’t know, I’m not good at thinking on the spot, okay? Thankfully, my dumb idea seemed to work, since the Marshall continued his barking after only a few moments of tense silence. Seemed like he was so focused on the mission and ticking all the necessary boxes that he failed to notice the more than passing resemblance between me and the man he’d been studying for the past few months. Cameron Burke, idiot extraordinaire. 

Gunfire. Screaming. I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible, examining the behaviour of the officers around me. Judging by their lack of reactions, I was fairly certain that I was having yet another vision. Only auditory. The crackle of radio static, followed closely by a voice I recognised almost instantly.  
“Marshall! I know your sin. It’s your Pride.” It took me a while to orientate myself within the vision. It was a little unusual that I wasn’t in my own shoes, something I’d experienced only a couple of times before. A possible future where I sat in the wrong seat of a truck. I tried to clutch at the strings of information, keep with the vision, know what to avoid. But the sound faded too fast. The voice spoke again, distant but understandable.  
“Hudson will die because of you and your pride, is that what you want, Marshall?” It has taken me 4 months and a lot of research to put a name to that voice the first time I heard it in a vision. John Seed. Previously, John Duncan, a hotshot lawyer with a crippling cocaine addiction and very wealthy, very dead foster parents. I’d figured out pretty quickly that my biological family was ‘gifted.’ My dad- Joseph- and I had our visions, Jacob could really fuck with your mind, and John could tell a person’s sins from a single glance. 

My future uncle was right though. If I wasn’t careful, the Marshall’s pride would be the death of us all. It would be his own downfall too, that much was obvious now. Not even bothering to say hello because he felt he was better than us? When we were the people that would be saving his ass in a matter of hours? If I’m honest, I did feel a little bad for Burke, even if he was an absolute prick. Ambition was written all over his stupid face.  
“We’re leaving in 30 minutes,” the Marshall snapped, marching out of the room, “Start hauling ass, people.” 30 minutes until the beginning of the end. Safe to say, despite all of my planning, I was not ready.


	2. Changing appearances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Focuses on some pregame events and the game’s introduction up to Joseph’s arrest.

6 minutes and 42 seconds.  
That’s how long I had before the Marshall would start demanding that they leave without me. A tempting offer, if the lives of pretty much everyone I loved and cared about weren’t balancing on my shoulders. I would be fine as long as I made sure every second between now and the Marshall’s generous deadline counted. I needed to alter my appearance as much as I possibly could standing in a police bathroom. The less I looked like the Seed family, the better. I stared at myself in the mirror. Indecision was written across my features as I debated whether to have my hair up or down. Obviously, having my hair down would make the colour more visible. Which would be fine, if my hair was any colour but the golden brown I’d grown to hate (otherwise known as the same fucking colour as my dad and my uncle). And because of Joseph’s pathetic excuse of a man bun, if I had my hair up I’d look way too similar. I didn’t have time for anything more complex than a ponytail anyways. I gnawed on my lower lip. A full minute passed before I finally pulled my hair up into a ponytail. Resemblance be damned, I hated the feeling of my hair on my face. After a few more moments of second guessing my decision, I rushed out of the bathroom, making my way towards my desk. The next items on my agenda- my sunglasses and my cap. 

2 minutes and 20 seconds.  
I rummaged though my desk drawer, hoping that within the clutter I’d dumped in there, I’d finally find my shades. My cap already rested on my head, one of the first items I’d found, pulled low over my face. I felt a tug at the corners of my mouth as my hand brushed over cold metal, my fingers fumbling for the black aviators I’d hoped to find. In my hurry to get out of the door, I ended up stabbing myself in the eye with the thin metal arm of my glasses. Because of course. This day could not get any damn worse. Eventually, I managed to put them on without maiming myself further. Despite the pain in my eye, I was able to smile. These shades were perfect. Tinted enough to hide my eye colour, large enough to cover most of my face. I could’ve actually make it onboard the helicopter with time to spare. Could’ve being the operative word. 

1 minute and 24 seconds.  
Fucking Nancy was blocking the doorway, probably begging Earl not to get on the chopper. She was dabbing her face with a wad of tissues, tears freely spilling down her face. Feeling guilty already apparently. God I hated that bitch. I moved a little closer so I could hear their voices. It seemed like she wanted him to call the national guard in. Ridiculous. As if he had the jurisdiction to do that. As if he was the one calling the shots. If only Earl wasn’t sweet on her, I’d punch her in the face right now. How could you betray the people you claimed to consider family?  
“Nance, we’ll be okay, don’t you worry,” Earl’s voice was soothing, clutching at her shoulders, “if anything happens to us, you’ll come to the rescue, right?” A smile stretched across the Sheriff’s face, humour twinkling in his green eyes. Really? He was buying into her act? Pulling the Sheriff into a tight hug, Nancy mumbled her goodbyes. The air of finality in her voice verified my past visions, confirming she was already a member of my dad’s cult. It took a while for Earl convince her to move out of our way, eating away at my precious time, but she eventually listened. She clutched at my hand as I walked towards the door,  
It took every ounce of my strength not to act repulsed at her grasp.  
“Sorry but I’ve really got to go,” I mumbled, trying to shake off her vice-like grip. Her eyes locked onto mine, free hand resting on my shoulder. She tried to give me the same talk as she gave Earl, pleading with me not to get on the helicopter. The urge to roll my eyes was almost overwhelming. It wouldn’t even be a suicide mission if Nancy wasn’t a traitorous bitch. 

In a way I did feel bad for her. When I first joined the force, Nancy was dealing with her husband’s death. Prostate cancer. He was only 43 years old. She was rarely in the office and when she was she just sat by the window and sobbed. I’d never seen someone in so deep a depression. That stopped after a few months and she was a new person entirely. See, that’s what Joseph does. He used people that are at the lowest points in their lives, manipulating them for his own agenda. I would be disgusted if I didn’t know he believed he was genuinely helping them. Still, it had been 2 years since then, and she’d betrayed us for that long. In that time, she’d literally treated me like her own child, looking after me despite knowing her decision in a few hours could kill me. It made sense why we could never catch the Peggies by surprise during their ‘baptisms’ (selective drownings). Nancy was always warning them.

Unexpectedly, she gave a weak chuckle, “you remind me so much of your father.” Her words dragged me from my thoughts. Did she know? Would she be so bold as to mention Joseph to me? Here? She hurried to cover herself as she noticed the confusion on my face, the lie falling from her lips without hesitation, “Pastor Rook?” She chuckled again, this time more freely, “he’s always helping others. You couldn’t walk away from a case if you tried.” She’d attended my adoptive dad’s church since we’d moved to Montana. She was there at my baby sister’s christening. A new flood of nausea washed through my stomach as I finally managed to tear my hand from hers, “see you later.” I should’ve been in the chopper two minutes ago. If I had been I could’ve warned them. I knew they wouldn’t believe me but they’d be more on guard than they were now. So far, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was walking straight into a trap. 

Horror marred my features as I stared down at the video, my dad’s voice barely audible over the whirring of the helicopter rotor. The quality of the video didn’t help my comprehension either, focus blurring because of the shaky camera work. I could make out my father’s face though, completely void of emotions as he turned towards the camera. He wasn’t even mad that there was a turncoat in their midsts. As calm as if he were relaxing on a tropical beach, he gouged out the traitor’s eyes with his bare hands. Dissociating. So horrifying to me because I recognised the behaviour in myself. In the two years I’d been on the force, I’d only ever been forced to take a life once. Off-duty, at a bar just outside of Hope county. I was on my way to visit my parents, but my god awful second-hand Ford had broken down on me again. I’d decided to stop in at a bar while I waited for the mechanic, obviously not drinking anything alcoholic because it’d look pretty bad if a police officer got caught drink driving. After hearing a commotion outside, I tried to stop a guy from stealing a woman’s handbag and received a knife to the stomach. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, just the look on Earl’s face as forced me to stop administering CPR to a corpse. Blood covered almost every surface of my skin, the knife still embedded in my gut. A couple of the bar’s patrons claimed that I pulled out my service weapon and shot him in the chest four times point blank. Thank God it was considered an act of ‘self defence.’ The worst part was that I’d had a vision of the whole scenario a couple of weeks earlier, the searing pain of the knife in my stomach. 

Shuddering suddenly, I noticed the screen had gone blank, video buffering.  
“Rookie,” Earl tapped at my leg with the back of his hand, “you’re wasting your time, there’s no signal out here.”  
“Preaching to the choir, Sheriff,” I sighed, shutting my phone off and shoving it back in my pocket. My teenage social life had been dictated by the awful signal around my house. God, that was one part of my hometown I didn’t miss. Shifting uncomfortably, I tried to avoid the Marshall’s glare, opting to look out of the window instead. Night had already fallen, constellations forming overhead. That’s when I noticed it. Well, I mean you’d have to be blind to miss that monstrosity, the giant white statue of the Father, illuminated using what I guessed was military grade search lights. Ominously looming over the Henbane, the statue’s eyes seemed to follow us as we moved through the air, filling me with a sense of dread. We were in deep shit if the Peggies were dedicated enough to Joseph to erect that monstrosity. I gnawed at my lower lip, the Sheriff’s final attempt to convince the Marshall to leave falling on deaf ears. This was really happening. Not just a vision or a dream of the future, this was really real. 

Before I could process what was happening we were standing at the church door, Burke and the Sheriff arguing over how best to serve the warrant. We’d come at nightfall to make sure we didn’t agitate the Peggies but apparently these people never sleep, since a service seemed to be running in the church. I grabbed Earl’s arm, hoping that the Marshall was too distracted by his own ego that he didn’t notice me.  
“Sheriff, can you take Hudson into the church with you. I’m happy to stand guard," I muttered, pleading.  
Burke cut off the Sheriff before he could respond, barking out a laugh, “Scared, Rook? Don’t be such a coward. I want you to make the arrest.” In some dark part of my mind, I hoped that the Marshall would be taken to John when he ultimately got himself captured. How did this douche deserve the easy option of getting blissed out to high hell over the torture I knew Hudson would have to endure.  
The Marshall rested his hand on Earl’s shoulder, “Relax, Sheriff. You’re about to get your name in the paper.” 

Ignoring all advice given to him entirely, Burke pushed open the large wooden doors. Intent on being as dramatic as possible, I guess. Earl sighed deeply, following after Burke with his head hung. Through tinted lenses, I observed the congregation. People I’d known for years. Friends who’d attended Pastor Rook’s church. Kids that were barely old enough to be in middle school. They all stared at the Marshall, mumbling between themselves. I didn’t care if the Peggies recognised me. To them, I was Alex Rook, the daughter of Pastor Rook and his wife. They probably would think it sacrilegious if anyone dared mention I looked remotely like the Seeds. It was the people who didn’t know me, like the Seeds and some of the other folk living in Hope county, that worried me. It look all my willpower just to look forward. To look at my father. Even just listening to him, I could feel the charismatic pull of his words. I wouldn’t be surprised if his abilities included some form of brainwashing. I could only focus on him. With a simple change in his tone, the Peggies were on their feet, yelling at us. Commotion erupted all around us. I didn’t care. My uncles and Faith used the distraction to enter the church, moving behind the Father. I watched each of them enter, focused on their body language for signs of recognition. So far, so good, it seemed. Joseph spoke again, the crowd dissipating as soon as it formed. I’d had the vision of this exact moment so often that I could probably recite my dad’s words for him.  
"And behold, it was a white horse," the irony of his comment, directed at the Sheriff, was not lost on me. And I figured not on Earl either as he shifted uncomfortably. This whole situation was bad news.  
“and Hell followed with it." Joseph continued, his hands extended in my direction.  
"Rookie, cuff this son of a bitch," the Marshall commanded.  
“God will not let you take me,” my dad asserted, eyes focused on me. I exhaled shakily, slapping the cuffs onto Joseph’s wrists. Leaning forward, he whispered softly into my ear, “sometimes the best thing to do is to walk away.” If only I had that option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> I somehow managed to upload as promised. Please let me know if it’s confusing for y’all switching between ‘my dad/Joseph’. I’m trying to go for the whole ‘Rook doesn’t know whether to call him Joe or dad’ without explicitly stating it (which I’m doing now, I know) but if it’s confusing obviously I’ll edit it out.  
> Thanks.


	3. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses on the walk to the helicopter up to the point before meeting the Marshall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit- The colour of the building because I’m an idiot and colourblind apparently.

Cold air swirled around us as the wooden church doors were pushed open. I shuddered, from both the cold and the anticipation. Another gap in my visions, I had no idea of what I was walking into. Obviously, I knew the helicopter would crash. I’d seen that on multiple occasions. I just didn’t know why or how I got there. So, I was on edge a little more than usual.  
I heard Hudson conferring with the Sheriff, something about Pratt moving to a clearing farther away. I wasn’t sure. As I waited to leave, I glanced briefly over my shoulder at the remaining Seed siblings. John was mumbling into his radio, back turned to me. Faith was perched on the pulpit steps, eyes screwed shut, mouth moving slightly. In the bliss. Jacob was staring at me. Initially I thought he was watching Joseph, or the group as a whole. But even as they started to move, his eyes were glued on me. Head titled, brows narrowed. Puzzled. Facing forward, I felt a wave of dread. I needed to get out of the church, now. I pushed Joseph forward, hand on his shoulder. My mind raced as we followed the Sheriff. Had he connected the dots, realised that I was related to them in some way? Judging by the lack of action, I’m guessing he hadn’t connected shit yet. But we needed to get out of here. 

Squelching mud beneath my heavy boots forced me to slow my retreat, lagging behind the others somewhat. From what I could make out, the fancy-ass white gate we’d entered through was now closed and guarded by a couple of well-armed Peggies, so we were walking along the river bank beside the compound. Obviously, since we’d had pretty heavy rainfall for the last few days water had seeped over the banks and caused the dirt to turn to mud. It didn’t seem to bother the others as much, but every damn step I took felt like walking through quicksand. As the distance between us and the others grew, nervousness weighed heavily in the base of my stomach. The crazed cultists were yelling indignantly at us about Joseph’s arrest, forming crowds on either sides of us. I watched in frustration as Burke shoved one of the women to the floor because she got ‘too close’. Even I knew that all that would do was agitate the situation and I was a rookie (excuse the pun). Honestly, that man’s suicidal. As we reached the woman, Joseph stopped to help her to her feet. At once, I was torn. Stop him and become a villain in the eyes of every Peggie or let him carry on and cast suspicion on myself. The others wouldn’t know Nancy betrayed us unless I told them, since they would be unconscious when she radioed in. If they saw me helping Joseph now? With my resemblance? I don’t know how I’d convince them to trust me again. 

I settled for a comfortable middle ground, “please keep moving, Mr Seed.” He climbed to his feet, moving a little faster than before to close the gap between us and the others. The ground was firmer here, making movement easier. As we walked, he mumbled a quick “thank you, child,” as we began to walk again. It was moments like that that I could genuinely believe that my dad cared about the members of his ‘flock.’ Sure, it could all be for show, the metaphorical carrot dangling in front of his followers, ‘die for me, I’d do the same for you.’ Either way, all of these people would become cannon fodder for my father at a moment’s notice. It was eerie, borderline supernatural, how charismatic- wait. It wasn’t just borderline supernatural, it was another aspect of his abilities. I don’t even think he realised that himself. In all honesty, I felt bad for Nancy after I figured that out. Not bad enough to not wish her dead though. I was so caught up in my thoughts I didn’t even notice the growing mass of Peggies until Whitehorse and Burke spun to face me. They had their weapons out, shouting at the crowds to move back. As the helicopter blades began to whirl, I pushed Joseph towards Hudson. She pulled him into the plane, buckling him into the seat opposite. I followed closely after. Earl and the Marshall were barely in the chopper before we lifted into the air. 

Peggies, now unhindered by the threat of gunfire, clung to the helicopter. I felt disturbingly calm as I watched them claw at my feet. Desperation written across their unwashed faces. Adrenaline flooded my system and I felt autopilot kick in. Before I could process my actions, they were falling from the plane, bullets lodged in their skulls. I turned, my gun hovering over Joseph for half a second before I aimed my weapon at the boy clinging to the windscreen. He stared back at me, eyes fearful, face contorted. I fired once, twice. The shots landed too late. His blood coated the helicopter, the whirring fading as rotors began to fail. I braced myself for impact. 

A number of possibilities flashed before my eyes in the brief moments of unconsciousness. Mere glimpses of the alternative futures. I struggled against them, forcing myself back to consciousness as fast as possible. Joseph’s voice filled my ears as my eyes flickered open, followed by the crackling of a radio. He was calling for backup, I assumed. After checking myself for injuries (a particularly deep cut on my forehead and a couple other minor scratches and bruises, it seemed), I slammed my hand against the seatbelt. A few attempts later, I tumbled to the floor- or was it the ceiling?- struggling to orientate myself. I didn’t have long before Nancy’s grating sobs would be broadcast over the radio, I needed to act fast. A dilemma began to present itself. Hudson or Pratt? I could only carry one of them. Whitehorse wasn’t an option, he needed to be in that prison for my plans to work, and there was no way in hell I’d rescue Burke over one of my friends. Pain exploded behind my eyes as I tried to force myself into a vision, hoping that would help my decision. Slowly the image formed in my mind’s eye. I could see Pratt, sobbing, clearly tortured into submission. He was mumbling the Lord’s prayer. Hudson could handle herself. 

Pushing my way into the cockpit, I started to unbuckle Staci’s seatbelt. His breathing was shallow, shards of shrapnel were lodged into his shoulder. Crimson blossomed beneath the right shoulder of his uniform. Eventually, once the mangled metal belt was released, I hoisted him over my shoulder. Slamming my foot into the cockpit door, I ignored Nancy’s whining as it blasted over the radio.  
“Amazing Grace.” Now outside the plane, I instinctively ducked behind the plane, almost throwing Pratt onto the floor.  
“How sweet the sound.” The sound of rubber soles against the metal ceiling was enough to give me heart palpitations. To make matters worse, I heard the rumbling of an approaching car engine. Trying my best not to jostle Staci any further, I hurried around the nose of the helicopter, pain flaring through my body with every step. I winced, glad that Pratt was on my right shoulder, since the pain was more centred on my left side.  
“That saved-“ For the first time, in visions and the short time I’d known him in real life, ever I heard my father pause. His hesitation gave me the opening I needed to make a break for the tree line. 

“- A wretched like me.” Hands grasped the back of my shirt, stopping me as I tried to run. My father’s voice felt like the loudest sound in the world, even though he was barely even speaking, “I told you God wouldn’t let you take me.” I expected him to drag me backwards, hand me and Pratt over to his Peggies. In my visions I’d been captured, I’d burned to death, I’d escaped. But I’d never seen version of events before. God, I hated the unknown. My dad did what I’d never expect him to do in a million years. He let me go. I ran, as fast as my legs could carry me, hoping beyond hope that my instincts were correct. Why did he let me go? I’d never foreseen this part either, running through the woods. What if I ran too far south and walked straight into a Peggie ambush? God I was in so much pain. Pratt seemed to get heavier and heavier with each step. I could hear him stirring, his body tensing as he realised he was being carried. Probably thought he had been captured. I needed to stop. To rest and to explain. 

A sigh of relief tumbled from my mouth as I saw the break in the trees, a small clearing. I rushed towards it, the sounds of running water drawing me in. I needed to clean our wounds, bandage them as best I could with what I had. I glanced around, searching for the best place to put Staci. A small spring, judging by how clean the water looked, surrounded by delicate flowers and a few small trees. The scene would’ve been beautiful if we weren’t running for our lives. I propped Pratt up against the tree nearest to the water, watching relief flood his eyes as I recognised me. I waited for him to speak first, taking a second to stop my ragged breathing.  
“Rook, what happened?” Pratt asked eventually.  
“What do you remember?” I asked, kneeling by the stream as I began to remove my shirt. For once I was grateful for the thin material of the shirt, easy enough to tear with my bare hands. I dipped the rags into the stream and shuffled back over to Pratt.  
“You guys came back from the church with that motherfucker, Joseph Seed. There were Peggies clinging to the helicopter so we were too heavy to take off. Then we crashed because of that dumbass Peggie on the windscreen.” As he spoke, I helped him to remove his shirt and t-shirt. It was slow work, since a couple of the pieces had barely pierced his shoulder and so came loose at the slightest touch. It was only when I was finished that I realised the extent of his injuries. This was bad. I couldn’t hide my expression in time.  
He winced, “that bad huh?”  
I shook my head, “no, you’ll be fine. Nancy betrayed us. I woke up first, grabbed you and ran.”  
“That bitch. I always knew I hated her. But why me? Hudson was sitting right next to you.”  
“You were the most injured. I was worried if the Peggies got you...” I trailed off. I wrung the cold water from the shirt out over Pratt’s shoulder, chuckling as his face contorted.  
“Why’s it so cold?” He whined.  
I rolled my eyes, “don’t be such a baby, Staci. And keep your voice down, we’re not out of the woods yet.”  
“Obviously,” he looked around pointedly. I rolled my eyes.  
“It’s an idiom, idiot.” I watched the water turn crimson as it washed down his body, oozing into the ground. Once his shoulder was relatively clean, I began to remove the shards that hadn’t pierced too deep, having to place my hand over Pratt’s mouth to muffle the sounds of his yelps. I could hear footsteps and voices all around us and I’ll be honest I wasn’t sure if it was a vision or not. 

With only one or two pieces left in his shoulder, I began to bandage as best I could. As I worked, Pratt used the remaining cloth to clean the cut on my forehead. As gently as I could, I pulled his t-shirt back on, careful not to move his shoulder too much.  
“Think you can walk?” I asked when we’d finished, helping him to his feet. He nodded, though clearly in pain. We needed to find Dutch. His bunker was only a few miles south of here if I recalled correctly. He had the know-how and the materials to properly patch up Pratt. Plus he was the only person I could wholeheartedly trust to protect Staci while he recovered. Dutch was a close friend of my father’s, I’d literally grown up with his son. He would help us before I even asked. Under the grumpy old man facade, he really was a kind man. I just had to get to the neighbouring island without being caught by any Peggies. Easy. We began to move, slower than I would’ve liked but at least we were on the move again. After almost tripping on a fallen branch for the third time, I pulled off my shades, amazed by how bright everything suddenly seemed. Honestly I’m amazed that I managed to get to the clearing with Pratt at all. I tucked the sunglasses in my shirt pocket. It’s not like it mattered anymore whether they knew. At least until I start helping the people in the county. 

A burst of static from our radios preceded the voice of the Marshall, “hello, anyone reading me? Hello? It’s Burke. Hello?” I wanted to slam my head into the nearest tree. Of fucking course, he just has to continue to make my life difficult.  
Before I could stop him, Pratt was already responding, “Burke, it’s Pratt and Rook. We read you loud and clear. Where are you?”  
“I think I lost them, there’s a trailer nearby. We can meet there.”  
“Ten four.” We’d seen that trailer a little while back, a couple hundred metres west of here. We’d considered resting there but obviously I steered us away. The more I could avoid the Marshall, the better. I watched Pratt begin to move towards it, clipping his radio back into its holder.  
I pulled him back, making sure my radio was turned off before stating, “Staci, listen to me. If we go meet the Marshall there’s a chance we get captured or killed. If we don’t, he’ll die but we’ll escape.” I gnawed on my lower lip, realising what I’d just said.  
“And you know this because?” He demanded, pulling his arm from my grip. I panicked.  
I took a risk.  
“Okay, I really need you trust me. My birth name isn’t Alex Rook. It’s Esther Seed. I’m adopted,” my words jumbled together as I spoke, watching his reaction carefully. I’m particular, how closely his hand hovered over his service weapon.  
“Quit fucking with me, Rook, it’s not funny,” he spat after a few seconds, glaring at me intensely. I shifted under his gaze.  
“I swear to you, it’s the truth okay? My dad is Joseph Seed. You want proof? Look at me. Tell me I don’t look like the man we just arrested. If you don’t believe me, we’ll ask the Sheriff when we see him next, he knows.”  
“Even if I did believe you, why are you telling me this now, Alex?” His tone softened, sighing as he realised that I was right. I did look remarkably like Joseph Seed, that much was undeniable.  
“Because I’m- Because the Seed family have abilities. My dad and I get visions. Of stuff that’s happened and stuff that could happen.” I winced as he scoffed, “that’s why Joseph knew when we were coming. We walked right into a trap. Why else would he be holding a church service at stupid ‘o’ clock?”  
Brows furrowed, he responded, “Thought you said Nancy betrayed us?”  
“She did. She’s a Peggie. Too risky to warn him, he wouldn’t have had enough time to prepare. She just won’t call in anyone to rescue us. We’re on our own.”  
The screeching of tires on a dirt track ended our conversation as we looked at each other in fear. I pointed in the direction of the trailer, hoping we’d be moving in the opposite direction to the truck. Seemed like Pratt had already made his mind up about where he wanted to go. 

 

“Look, you can see for yourself. We’ll rejoin Burke and get ambushed by some Peggies. He’ll start up a truck and we’ll drive off only to be stopped by some Peggie roadblocks,” I mumbled after we’d walked far enough away from the Peggies. The foliage thickened as we wandered through, hoping we were going in the right direction.  
He shrugged, “Alright, Rookie.” I could tell he wasn’t taking what I was saying seriously.  
I sighed, “I’m telling you all of this because I’ve seen you die. I’ve seen you beaten and tortured. Please, even if you don’t believe me, I need you to just listen to anything I tell you.” He nodded and a heavy silence descended on us again. I knew it was a hard thing to believe, he just needed time to warm to the idea. Harder still to hear of your own death. I felt bad for overwhelming him.  
“I got a question for you, Rook. How come you didn’t warn us before?” He asked. The trailer was visible now, a small white building next to what looked like a small river. We’d have to walk over a wooden bridge to get there though.  
“I wanted to. But every time I thought about it, I had visions of trying and getting sectioned. Would you believe me if I told you everything right off the bat?” I replied.  
“Guess not.” Stopping just before I bridge, I warned him not to tell the Marshall about me. I knew Pratt was a rational human being. The Marshall was not. I’d probably end up with a bullet in my brain. Pratt handed me his weapon when I realised I’d lost mine, probably taken by my dad when I was unconscious. I covered him as he hurried over the bridge, following closely after. The next hour would be interesting, to say the least.


	4. Roadblocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pratt and Rook meet up with the Marshall and things seem to go suddenly downhill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I’m back! Sorry for the long wait, hope this chapter’s good enough to make up for it.  
> Enjoy!

The scent of smoke lingered heavily in the air around the trailer. Pratt didn’t seem to be affected by it, rushing towards the trailer as fast as his legs could carry him. A sense of foreboding weighed heavily on the base of my stomach. I couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that something bad was about to happen. Sighing deeply, I followed after Pratt. It was as I moved closer to the trailer that I noticed how pale he’d become, colour drained from his face. Even his lips were a ghostly white. Blood loss. I hadn’t secured his bandages tight enough. He needed to rest and I needed to redress his wounds. God, how I hated the Marshall in that moment. I wouldn’t even know what I’d do if Pratt died trying to save Burke. The Sheriff, Hudson and Pratt were basically my family. It hurt bad enough to let the Sheriff and Hudson be captured, let alone allow Staci to die on my watch. 

He reached the bottom of trailer steps first, hand curled around the wooden guardrail. Hunched over, he struggled to regain his breath. I rested my hand on his arm as I walked past in a way I hoped was comforting. He glanced up at me, droplets of sweat rolling down his face. He looked awful. Picking up the pace, I braced myself against the door, pistol at my hip. Regardless of what I’ve seen before, there was a real chance this was a trap set up by the Seeds. I needed to keep my wits about me. Using my shoulder, I rammed the door open, hearing the flimsy lock snap as I pushed. Raising the pistol up, I entered the trailer, signalling for Pratt to keep close. 

The interior stunk. Like raw sewage and faeces. I resisted the urge to vomit. This time it seemed as if Pratt was also affected by the stench, gagging audibly. I glanced around, eyes trailing over the images of my father and the scrawled writing across the walls. A Peggie trailer. Hence the smell. I doubted anyone had lived here for a long time. I hoped no one had anyways. These were the people my father was targeting. The mentally ill, the emotionally traumatised. It’s no wonder the cult grew as quickly as it did. The sounds of movement from the other room caught my attention as I wheeled around to face the empty doorframe. In an instant, a figure emerged, charging towards me faster than I could react. My finger twitched over the trigger, hesitation slowing my movements. I expected to be thrown against the far wall as the figure raced to escape.  
Instead, they stopped, “Rook, Pratt. Jesus Christ.” It was the marshall, “I’m sorry.”   
“Fucking hell, Burke,” I huffed, turning to check on Pratt, “don’t scare a girl like that.” Pushing past Burke, Staci and I made our way into the larger room. We attempted to find a spot that was relatively clean. Failing that, I just pulled off my shirt and spread it on the ground for Pratt to sit on. At this point, he looked as if he was about to collapse and I had to all but lower him to the ground. The smell was a little better in here but still lingered in the air. I glanced around the room, looking for both the source of the stench and anything clean I could dress Pratt’s wounds with.   
The Marshall followed after me as I searched, “Rook, I’m sorry, I thought they got you. What happened to you two?” Yellow metal flashed as the sunlight from an open window reflected into a drawer. Medkit. Jackpot. I searched the contents, elated with what I found. For a Peggie, they had some good supplies.   
“The plane crashed. I woke up, saw Joseph was gone, checked y’all over and grabbed Pratt when I realised how badly he was injured.” I shrugged, latex gloves snapping as I pulled them onto my hands. Burke huffed, clearly annoyed I’d chosen Pratt over him. As if I’d even consider him as a choice. I continued my search through the apartment, looking for a lighter or some alcohol I could use as a disinfectant. 

“What about with you guys? Where’s Hudson and the Sheriff?”   
“They took ‘em. That psycho Joseph Seed shouted something about a reckoning or a reaping and then they charged at us. I only managed to escape because the plane caught fire,” he showed me a pretty nasty burn on the back of his arm. “Jesus. I had no idea. Fuck! We’re putting this whole family away. All of ‘em. Fucking lunatics.” I couldn’t help but wince. He didn’t even know the half of it. As he spoke, I managed to find a box of matches. They weren’t exactly perfect but they would do. Kneeling beside Pratt, I lit a match and held it beneath the tip of the tweezers. Once they were hot enough, I handed them over to Pratt. Slowly unwinding his makeshift bandages, I sighed at how much blood had seeped through the rags.   
It was Pratt’s turn to speak up, “how’d you know so much about first aid, Alex?” His voice cracked as he spoke, evidently in a great deal of pain.   
I sighed, “When your mom is a doctor and you spend half your childhood hanging around the ER, you tend to pick up a few things.” He looked intrigued and I realised that I’d never really spoken to them about my past. Or theirs. In fact, I didn’t even know if Pratt had a family. I guess I was subconsciously emotionally distancing myself from them in case the worst happened. Guilt itched at the back of my mind, creeping into my thoughts. I focused on the task at hand. I had the rest of my life to find out about my friends’ lives. If I didn’t get this shrapnel out of Pratt’s shoulder, the rest of his life would probably be about 30 minutes tops.   
I glanced at the windows, “Marshall, can you keep watch? We should have a at least a few minutes before the Peggies find us. I need to re-bandage Pratt’s shoulder.” He nodded, snatching an assault rifle from the Peggies’ array of weapons and positioning himself by one of the windows. I turned my attention back to Staci. 

Rummaging through the yellow box, I pulled out a green bottle labelled disinfectant. I emptied its contents over his shoulder, an audible hiss spilling over his lips.   
“Sorry,” I mumbled. Taking back the tweezers, I glanced through the medkit. I threw a pack of painkillers in Pratt’s direction, hoping that he could swallow the tablets dry. He hummed in what I guessed was thanks. I half-smiled, taking up the tweezers. This was going to be painful. Eventually, I managed to remove the last shards of shrapnel. I stemmed the blood flow with a wad of spare bandages and I sewed up the worst of the wound. Wrapping his shoulder with the rest of the sterile bandages, I hoped this would be a better solution than the last time. My knees ached as I climbed to my feet, stretching as I looked out the window. Tire tracks lined the dirt, marking our escape route. Meaning “they’re coming from the East, Marshall.”   
“How do you know?” Pratt queried as the Marshall altered his stance to watch the treeline eastwards.   
“Just a hunch,” I replied, “if they’re half-competent, they’re probably going to follow us through the forest, rather than over the bridge, because we’ve got line of sight.” Burke hummed in agreement. I handed Pratt his pistol, wandering over to where the Marshall stood to grab a gun that looked almost identical to Burke’s. The Peggie that lived here must’ve been really into this brand of assault rifles. I checked the magazine, clicking the safety off. They’d be here soon. 

I crouched beside Pratt, keeping my voice as low as possible, “stay here and rest.” He started to protest but I pressed my hand against his mouth to stop him. I nodded towards the Marshall, trying to signal that we needed to keep our voices down. Once Pratt seemed to get the memo, I dropped my arm.   
He sighed, “Let me help, Rook.”   
“No, stay here. Once he-“ I glanced over at Burke, “-starts the truck, he’ll yell for us. I’ll cover you for as long as I can. Run out of the back door, it’ll be safer.” Frustration bled into my mind. I could feel pressure against the sides of my hands, the sound of flesh against wood. Was the door locked? I straightened up, moving towards the back door. This door needed to be open. If Pratt tried to walk out the front, I was almost certain he would be shot instantly. The metal door handle was cold to the touch as I tried to turn it. Halfway around, there was a metallic thud and all movement stopped. Locked. I gnawed on my lower lip, anxious. Boot against the old wood, I kicked as hard as I could. The back door swung open and I breathed a sigh of relief.   
I spoke louder this time, making sure that Burke could hear as well, “Pratt, you need to stay here and rest. If anything goes wrong, leave by this door and make a dash for it.” As soon as I’d finished speaking, there were shouts from within the woods. Our heads snapped round and the Marshall and I moved into position. Pratt caught my arm as I tried to move away, eyes meeting mine, “thank you, Alex.” I shrugged. 

Pushing myself out of the window, I rolled under the nearest source of cover. The Marshall followed suit. The Peggies started to emerge from the trees, yelling and firing wildly at the trailer. Even after the Marshall and I started to exchange fire, our ample cover meant their aim was absolutely terrible. I felt awful. These were the civilians I’d sworn to protect. I half-wished I could disassociate, not deal with the guilt. I didn’t want to be aware of what I was doing for once. For each bullet that landed, my aim got worse and worse. My hands were shaking.   
“Burke, the truck!” I yelled, running over to where he crouching. The Marshall nodded and I laid down cover. God, there were so many of them. Like a hydra, as soon as I shot one Peggie, two more appeared. Pretty soon, we’d be overwhelmed.   
“Let’s go!” The Marshall honked the truck horn, finally getting the vehicle started. I wondered if they taught him how to hotwire cars in FLETC. I clamboured to my feet. Bullets soared past as I moved towards the car. Pain seared through my thigh as a bullet soared past, just scraping across the skin. I gritted my teeth. I shouldn’t have underestimated them. Sure, could’ve been a lucky shot, but these weren’t idiots who’d never even seen a gun before. Most farmers were proficient in firearms anyways to keep animals or thieves off their property. But many of the folk that had settled into Hope County were vets or ex-cops. Some Peggies might hesitate about taking a life but others were desperate for it. I was starting to feel like the lucky one. They must’ve sent the newbies after us. 

In my peripheral vision, I watched Pratt’s figure sprint towards the truck. I followed shortly after. I fired a few more rounds into the treeline before pulling myself into the backseat of the truck. Burke hit the gas as I settled into the leather. We pulled out onto the main road, Pratt in the front seat, firing at the cultists with a shotgun that he must’ve picked up in the trailer. See, that’s why I liked Pratt. He came across as a ‘head-in-the-clouds’ goofball but in reality he was quick-witted and analytical.   
“Shit,” I mumbled, pressing my hands against the gash on my leg. It wasn’t exactly life threatening but it hurt like hell.   
Pratt turned to face me, “you okay, Rook?”   
I grimaced, lifting a blood-covered hand, “bastards shot me. It’s just a scratch, I’ll be fine.”   
“Listen, I’d be dead back there if it weren’t for the two of you. We’ve gotta get out of here, call in the goddamn national guard if we have to. Missoula is only a couple miles west of here, we can just follow this road- oh shit!” The Marshall yelled, suddenly slamming his foot onto the brakes. “Oh no. Oh no. They’ve got the roads blocked.” He smashed his hand on the steering wheel.   
“Just fucking drive!” I yelled, back window shattering as Peggies surrounded us. The car was thrown into reverse. We swerved around the concrete block, pretty much giving me whiplash in the process. Great, another injury to add to the list. Pratt fired a few rounds at the vehicles and I followed suit, shooting through the now glassless window. 

I hurled the last stick of dynamite at the cluster of cars following us, cursing as I mistimed the fuse. The explosive rattled harmlessly beneath the nearest car, igniting long after they’d past. My gun, rendered useless a while ago, sat on the seat beside me, magazine empty. I cursed how reckless I’d been with ammo earlier and flattened myself against the truck chair. Slivers of headlights followed the bulletholes up along the white metal. I winced as the spray seemed to inch closer to me.   
“Is that a fucking plane?” The Marshal yelled, knuckles turning white as he clutched the steering wheel, “don’t you tell me they have fucking air support.”   
The plane railed the ground in front of us, a piercing ringing filling my ears. I winced. Red metal became visible, I recognised the bridge amongst the crowd of white trucks. We were overwhelmed now. Even if the plane didn’t take us off the bridge, the Peggies in vehicles definitely would. 

“John,” my eyes widened as I heard his voice through the crackling of a radio. A vision, probably. Well, technically a hearing. But anyways, I pushed myself up just slightly, ignoring Pratt’s questioning glance, watching the plane soar above our heads. God, even without the vision, I’d recognise those decals.  
“Shit, it’s affirmation.” 

I came to a sudden realisation as I watched John’s plane dive towards us. I sat in the wrong seat of the car.


End file.
